


Who Run The World

by Rainbowrites



Category: Glee, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 03:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowrites/pseuds/Rainbowrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brittany’d been a favorite before – a beautiful Career from District 2, with an 8 in training? The Capital had loved her. Now that they’ve heard her talk, they pity her. They don’t even get mad at her for telling them how terrible they are. After all, they sigh, she can’t understand what she’s saying.</p><p>Santana laughs, and runs her tongue over the Remade points of her fanged teeth. Oh, she can’t wait for this year’s Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Run The World

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Кто правит миром](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028332) by [yolo_jackie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolo_jackie/pseuds/yolo_jackie)



> there is some really ignorant, horrible talk in this about Brittany - including the word 'retard'. This is not how I feel about Brittany, as you will see if you read the whole story, but I wanted to warn for it.
> 
> Also, it's a Hunger Games AU. People die. I don't really focus on that though.
> 
> Unbetaed, so any mistakes are mine. Sorry!

 

Brittany smiles like she doesn’t realize she’s basically naked, clad only in glitter and some strategically placed diamonds. She talks about her cat, Lord Tubbington, who eats people food and how awesome cups are.

Caesar Flickerman has no idea what to do with her, which, Santana thinks later, viciously proud, is a victory in itself. That blowhard never shuts up, but he can’t get a word in edgewise. For those three minutes, Brittany rules the stage and all of Panem.

Right before she leaves, Flickerman, in a fit of desperation, calls after her “So what do you think of the Capital?” Usually it’s the first question, but Brittany hadn’t let him get a word in edgewise.

Brittany blinks at him. “You look terrible,” she says slowly. Santana nearly chokes on her drink at the pitying look on Brittany’s face, the exact same one that people give _her_ behind her back. “I look awesome.” And then she bounces off, humming about cups.

Santana watches as the odds shoot up against her, climbing so quickly that it’s practically a vertical line. Brittany’d been a favorite before – a beautiful Career from District 2, with an 8 in training? The Capital had loved her. Now that they’ve heard her talk, they pity her. They don’t even get mad at her for telling them how terrible they are. After all, they sigh, she can’t understand what she’s saying.

Santana laughs, and runs her tongue over the Remade points of her fanged teeth. Oh, she can’t _wait_ for this year’s Games.

\--

Brittany sings about headbands as she sways on the pad. Santana doesn’t breathe the entire time, even though she knows, _knows_ , that Brittany’s body never does a damn thing Brittany doesn’t want it to. As soon as the buzzer goes off, it’s chaos. Tributes streak for the Cornucopia or away towards the woods.

Santana picks out two deaths already – the boy from 8 with an axe in his skull from the girl from 7, and then the little girl from 10 who had the bad luck to trip while trying to run away and landing right in a Career’s path. Or maybe it wasn’t bad luck at all, Santana thinks. After all, the Bloodbath is the quickest way to ensure an easy death. The Careers are too focused on getting supplies to worry about stretching out a death for their Sponsor’s amusement.

Santana sneers at the thought of literally lying down and dying like that. It’s pathetic – the girl should have at least tried to win, even if she had no chance. She takes a slug of whiskey to avoid the tiny seed of respect for the girl, who had least been able to choose her death. That’s a luxury that you don’t get once you step outside the Arena.

Then the camera moves over to Brittany, and Santana forgets everything else because Brittany is _dancing_.

Brittany has her hands in the hair as she writhes, the tight blue uniform clinging to her muscles as it moves. She sings about how she’s going to light up the world, and for a moment she does. The tributes stop fighting to stare at her, the way the sunshine catches in her hair and makes her look like she’s made of light as she dances. Santana can feel the world start to shift as Brittany does one of her magical turns.

And then Brittany stops, sits down on the lip of the Cornucopia, and says “I want to have sex now.”

The single breathe of peace she’d wrought is gone as suddenly as it came, but this time the bloodshed has an edge to it that a simple desire to live didn’t give. They’re not fighting for Panem anymore. This time, they’re fighting for _her_.

Brittany watches as boys and girls kill each other at her feet, their blood splashing her legs like water. She doesn’t blink, just hums to herself and rocks back and forth. She’s sitting in the shade of the Cornucopia’s curve, the gold winking around her like a throne. Food and gifts lay littered at her feet, scattered among the dead and the dying, but she doesn’t make a move towards any of them. She doesn’t have to. They’re already hers.

Finally, the only people left in the Cornucopia are the two tributes from 1, the girl from 4, and Brittany, who is still sitting on top of the Cornucopia. Everyone else has fled or died. Santana doesn’t really give a shit.

“Hi,” Brittany smiles benignly down at them. Her toes skim the reddened ground as she kicks them back and forth.

Glamour from 1 grins back. He’s missing an ear – it’s still bleeding sluggishly. He doesn’t bother trying to patch it up, probably trying to look tough for the sponsors. Santana rolls her eyes. Nothing tough about dying from infection – that shit’s just embarrassing.

“You wanted to have sex?” Shell from 4 touches Brittany’s knee with her hand. Glamour’s eye flicks to it like he’s thinking about cutting it off. Shell hefts her spear meaningfully. It’s still dripping blood from where she gutted the boy from 9 like a fish. Glamour looks back at Brittany.

“Yup,” Brittany takes off her uniform without a shred of shame. She knows she’s gorgeous. But most importantly, she doesn’t hesitate for a single second to throw away any protection the clothes might supposedly give her. Santana smiles as she strokes the screen. Brittany knows what her real armor is.

The Capital has to cut away, since the Games are supposed to be a _family_ show.  Showing kids killing each other, chopping each other to pieces and torturing each other for fun, yeah sure that’s all good. But having sex? Somebody think of the children.

They intersperce scenes of surviving tributes struggling to find water with seconds back with Brittany. Not long enough to really _see_ anything, no that would be crass. Just long enough to hear the moans, catch a glimpse of Brittany’s long white throat, bared without fear of a knife. Santana’s sure that the Gamemakers are already busy making _special_ tapes for richest Capital citizens. She idly wonders if she should get one of her clients to buy her one as a present. It’s been a long time since she got anything but secrets from her clients, but she might make an exception for this.

The next day, they’re all under Brittany’s thumb. But her Britts is so smart, so incredibly smart, and so they all think that Brittany’s _their_ pet. Brittany plays with all of their weapons, making noises with her mouth as though they’re trucks or helicopters as she waves them vaguely through the air. She picks up the razor wire and makes cats cradle with it before Glamour decides that she’s going to hurt herself and takes it away. Brittany pouts so beautifully though that Glamour relents in seconds and shows her how to hold it so that it only cuts outward not in. She oohs and ahhs as Glamour shows off, to the point where Santana starts to worry that she’s over doing it. But Glamour just laps it up, along with the Capital.

Silk from 1 scoffs and says that the retard’s going to end up cutting her own throat before any of them have to. She’d fucked Brittany like Brittany was a toy, yanking her by her beautiful hair so she didn’t have to actually _touch_ the freak, and then spitting on her after she finally came. They hadn’t cut away from that, had focused obscenely on the wet shine of it sliding down Brittany’s cheek, just missing her eye.

Silk’s dead by the end of the day. Blown sky high chasing after Brittany, who was dancing after a butterfly as she played with Silk’s mace like a yoyo. Not Brittany’s fault, of course. How was Brittany to know that the boy from 3 would have booby-trapped the ground? Brittany was just dancing. It’s pure luck that her light steps didn’t set anything off, that she danced around the most sensitive of them.

Brittany cries for Silk, and the Capital weeps over how beautiful Brittany is with tears glittering in her eyelashes like diamonds. That night, Brittany gets ribbons for her hair and cream cakes to eat. Brittany laughs like a child as she claps her hands over the gifts, and the Capital swoons for her. She smiles, and all of Panem smiles back at her.

Her odds don’t go up of course. The odds are never in someone like Brittany’s favor. No one actually expects her to actually _win,_ they just want her to last long enough for them to fawn over her a little longer.

\--

There’s a petition for no natural disasters during this Game, because the Capital citizens are afraid that poor stupid Brittany won’t realize what’s happening in time to escape. It would be terrible, they simper to each other over glasses of bright pink champagne, if she didn’t figure out to run from something like a forest fire. All that pretty blonde hair would burn in seconds, before Brittany would even realize something was wrong.

Wouldn’t she realize when the animals started running? Someone asks.

“Oh no,” a woman with feathers imbedded where her hair should have been laughs at the thought of Brittany being so sensible. “The poor dear simply couldn’t think that far ahead.” Oh yes, they all agree. Animals at least have instincts, as base as they might be. Poor Brittany wouldn’t be able to figure it out.

“Surely she’d follow another butterfly to safety yet again.” A fat purple man says jovially. He’s the one who sent the cream cakes, rather than something actually filling like bread or meat.

“It was purest luck with the butterfly the first time, sure not to happen again.” Feather woman insists. “People like her just weren’t meant to live. They’re all wrong you see,” she smooths her feathers back as she wonders at how Brittany managed to survive this long – the girl’s parents must be perfect saints to have taken care of her so long. “An animal would know to run at the fire. Poor Brittany would probably just think it was pretty and want to play with it.”

They all sigh and shake their heads, worrying about the _poor dear_. She’s sure to die soon.

Santana nods as she collects donations, looking sad and tired over worrying for her poor, dear, stupid tribute as she pictures exactly how she would kill every single person there. The woman with the feathers gets special consideration. It would be slow.

\--

The games don’t take very long. The Arena this year is shaped like a bowl, heating up like a skillet during the day. The only source of water is what was in the packs, and the few minutes of rain that shower down periodically – just far enough apart that you could feel yourself begin to die from dehydration and start to get desperate. Brittany, of course, never goes so much as a few hours without getting silver parachutes filled with fizzy lemonade and wine coolers. The Careers take to tracking down the individual tributes and make a game within the Games of chasing them up the sloping ridges of the Arena so that they come sliding right back down onto their blades.

 “Like spearing fish in a barrel,” Shell says, amused. She kisses Brittany slowly, showing off for the cameras as she wipes blood from 11’s girl onto Brittany’s neck like a brand.

“Fish don’t come in barrels,” Brittany says after breaking the kiss. “Only mermaids have barrels. Double barrels usually.” She plays with the tips of her hair. “Dolphins are just gay sharks, and mermaids are just fish with double barrels. Lord Tubbington knows not to eat fish because he knows he’ll choke on the double barrel and die. He only eats people food, like cheese.” She touches Glamour's ragged ear. "You look like an elf. I don't really understand the difference between an elf and a slave, do you? But I guess elves get to eat all the left over cookies." She stares vacantly as she pulls on the rips of her hair. "I like cookies too, but I like cake better. I'm going to have my cake and eat it too."

Glamour and Shell exchange a _look_. Santana would punch them if this wasn’t exactly what Brittany wanted. Didn’t anybody understand what Brittany was _telling_ them?

\--

In the end, it’s down to the three of them. Glamour’s missing a few fingers to match his ear. Shell’s limping, her right leg a bloody mess from where the girl from 7 got in a lucky hit with her axe.

Brittany braids ribbons into her hair, naked as the day she was born so that everyone could see her perfectly unblemished skin.

Shell and Glamour eye each other, both very carefully not reaching for the weapons. Brittany stands up, and they both automatically turn towards her. “I want to have sex now,” she announces imperiously.

Shell rolls her eyes. “Of course you do,” she says, but her hands are already drifting towards her shirt.

“One last roll?” Glamour asks, all bared teeth and wild eyes. “And then I kill you, and fuck her one last time before I slit her throat.”

Shell laughs scornfully. “You mean before I kill you and fuck her one last time before putting my spear through her belly.” 

They both agree to put their weapons far away. There’s no one else around after all, so they don’t have to worry about someone sneaking up on them. They both walk towards Brittany, still watching each other suspiciously.

They’re so busy watching each other that neither of them notice Brittany pulling razor wire from the ribbons in her hair until it’s too late. They don’t even have a chance to scream. 

Like everything she does, Brittany is beautiful as she kills them, the razor wire whipping around her like extensions of her body as she twirls between them. She’s still naked, clad only in their blood and the ribbons hanging from her hair like afterthoughts. She snaps the blood off the wires with practiced ease before coiling them back up to hide in her hair.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Brittany announces before anyone in Panem can catch their breath. She raises her hands to the sky, stretching up onto her tipy toes like she’s waiting from someone to grab her by the hands and swing her around. Santana’s knuckles creak from where they’re clutching around the table to stop herself from reaching back.

Brittany and Claudius Templesmith announce it at the same time. “The winner of the 67th Hunger Games!”

Brittany looks directly into the camera that she shouldn’t know is there, in the second before they can shut off and signal the end of the Games. “I told you I was awesome,” she says, and this time when she smiles no one but Santana smiles back.


End file.
